


Shopping List No-Nos

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bondage, M/M, sex between the men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: John finds a shopping list that Sherlock wrote up. What is this for?





	Shopping List No-Nos

John Watson has been away at his sister Harry's for a week. He has been playing go-between for Harry and her fiancee. They were supposed to marry, but Harry's drinking has put off Clara. Clara called John to Harry's house to see if he could do something. He finally was able to make Harry understand that going to rehab was the only solution to keeping Clara around. 

* * *

Upon returning to 221 Baker Street, I notice right off the bat that there's something wrong with the flat.

It, sort of, no, it positively looks cleaner! Why? Sherlock is not known for cleaning. If anything he is the one messing up and I am the one cleaning.

* * *

My suspicions aroused, I also realize he's not home. And I know he was expecting me, I sent a text yesterday.

Maybe he left a note. Usually one on the desk or the frig. Not anyplace there or that I can see.

* * *

          'Oh yeah,' I say to myself, I had taken a book of Sherlock's to peruse while at Harry's. The book was one of the James Bond novels. Sherlock was reading them knowing my love of all the Bond movies.

Taking the book out of my bag I head into his bedroom. Still messy beyond belief with books, papers, magazines and even dirty dishes. Sighing, I pick up the dishes, and just as I go to remove myself, a note on the bed catches my attention.

It's written in red pencil. Picking it up I am perplexed at what I see in his handwriting:

          ' _chain, masking tape, rope, tie wraps, balloons or condoms, metal balls of various sizes, tweezers'_

What is he using these for?

* * *

Later that evening Sherlock returns, hangs his coat up, and without saying hello, marches into his room. And that's the last I see of him for the night.

* * *

Our schedules are varied for the next few days, and all we manage is a hello and goodbye. I do manage to get into his room and take a random check to see where that list has gone. 

It is missing. And no bags are to be found with any of the merchandise.

* * *

On a Friday night, we find ourselves both at 221B, after having eaten Chinese takeaway and a few cups of tea.

I have my laptop, and Sherlock is in that 'thinking position' he takes while in his chair. Hands steepled, like he's praying.

          "Case then?"

          "Nope, but I do have a problem."

And saying this his hands move away from his face and he turns that stare on me.

Up to no good, I think.

* * *

Putting the laptop on the floor, "what's this problem?"

          "I want to experiment but don't know how to approach it."

          "So, you are asking me to help?"

          "You are part of the experiment John, but not sure you'll like it."

Irritated that I have to pull this out of him, "Sherlock, come to the point. Let me decide on like or not like."At which, he stands up and heads to the sofa where he brings out a bag from the hardware store.

'Oh shit,' I anticipate the worst before he even speaks.

Spreading all of the items on the floor that was on that list he looks up at me.

          "Yeah? And I'm supposed to deduce what?"

          "What do you think?"

          "If it's anything like what I surmise the answer is no."

I stomp off to my room shaking. Does Sherlock expect me to be trussed up and beaten? And observe me, make an analysis of what the effects are? His next research project? On his blog?

* * *

The next day I'm finishing up with the last client at the clinic. I'm wondering whether to go home or not when a text comes in.

          _dinner is made. Come as soon as you can_

'Ah fuck,' I think. When Sherlock goes to this trouble, then something is up. And it is me that is going to be on the short end of the stick.

* * *

Heading up the stairs to 221 the aroma that hits is mouth watering.

The table set, wine out and I guess I'm to the slaughter bound.

* * *

Dinner talk is all about our daily rituals and the worldwide news. The meal is superb, and I try to keep the wine to a minimum.

* * *

After dinner, we clear the table, wash the dishes and Sherlock pushes the table to the side of the sitting room.

Sherlock takes out the bag of paraphernalia again, and I tense.

          "John, I need a favor from you. Can you, will you?" He hesitates and is so uncomfortable that I elect to jump in.

          "Some of this 'stuff' is to be put on so you can in some way observe and assess what? What is the experiment? Am I right?"

He tilts his head and studies me.

          "John, will you?" His voice is somewhat shaky.

He's not answering my questions. Do I unquestioningly let him do whatever?

The sofa is where he sits and still looking unsteady; he opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at the floor, then hesitantly remarks, "John, how, er, how many things there can you use to, uh, tie me with?"

I think my eyes shoot up nearly out of my head! I got it all wrong! He wants me to work on him!

Astonished at the change in my thinking I decide to see where this takes us.

          "It looks like four, no five."

* * *

Still not looking at me he puts both hands out in front of his body, wrist to wrist.

          "Go ahead, tie me up with as many of those items as you can."

          "Experiment, or case, what?" 

His lack of an answer has me puzzled. I get my hands on the rope and tie his hands together at the wrist; he murmurs,"My feet."

I use the chain to tie his legs together at the knees. And the masking tape for around his ankles.

All the while teetering between doing his bidding or getting up and leaving the room.

* * *

Sherlock's breath is coming fast, he raises his head, looks me in the eyes, and, "Kiss me."

          "What?"

Breath explodes out of him.

          "Kiss me, kiss me."

I sit touching my thigh to his thigh, every muscle in my body quivering.

His head turns to me, and I place a tentative kiss on his beautiful lips and quickly back off.

          "Damn it John. Kiss me I said!"

Shit, shit!

* * *

Grabbing him by his curly hair, I pull him in for another kiss, this one tight against those lips, and he opens his mouth letting his tongue push into me.

Shit, shit, I'm not doing this, I think, my head whirling!

Our tongues twine, lick our lips, the inside of each other, tasting, biting lips, feeling teeth.

I can't take anymore. A part of me is tight, stiff, hard. Fuck, I want more but cowardly, afraid to try more.

          "John," his voice soft but still with a shake, deep, deep with emotion.

          "You've got me tied up. What, what, er, I mean, if you could, if you wanted to, what would you like to do. To me, I mean."

I look at him directly in the face, unbelieving, realization beginning to enter into my mind.  
        "Sherlock, you, what you fancy is me?" I hesitate, "me, overwhelming you, sexually?"

He nods and nods.

          "Fucking stupid you are, you dumb detective."

I sit back and think.

          "Sherlock, if you physically desire me, say so, if you want me to force you, say so. I'll do whatever you have an itch for."

All is quiet. No answer. I decide to take matters into my own hands.

* * *

I start by removing all the shackles he has constraining him.

          "What are you doing?" mumbles this tall, lanky man.

Not answering, I get the last off and standing up I push him, so he is lying on the sofa on his back.

* * *

          "Fucking dimwitted, you are. Don't need ropes or chains for me to kiss you. Just ask."

He looks fixedly at me. Still with a voice that's wobbly,"It wasn't you I was afraid of, it's me. Afraid I would stop you."

          "Try me you ass. You even think of stopping me, and I'll rape the shit out of you."

My voice takes a commanding tone. With a bit of tremor in it.

I drop onto him, and reach for his hair, taking and combing my fingers through it while pressing my lips to his.

My whole body vibrates with the thought of what I'm doing. The intent.

* * *

Rubbing, feeling him under me, even with clothes on is an incredible, indescribable high.

His trousers and mine are bulging with our erections.

Damn, if I don't do something quick I'll be soaking my new khaki trousers.

* * *

I lean up and with one free hand start to unzip, think more about it and smile, no leer at him.

And slowly, slowly I unzip him, all the while my eyes never leave his face.

* * *

And the bugger begins to push my hand away!

          "Sherlock, if you are play acting tell me."

          "Get away from me. Stop!"

I pull back sucking in a breath and trying to take the sting out of what I was about to say.

          "I'll have to tie you up again, keep you in line. Because whatever you say, Sherlock unless you tell me otherwise, I'm going to rip into you, you've pushed me too far this time."

I move to get the restraints, and Sherlock launches up from the sofa and pushes me around to face him.

He's very agitated and angry.

          "Leave me alone."

Even goes so far as to push me so that I almost lose balance.

My temper flies up. And I let loose with a punch to his face.

He's taken by surprise and touches his jaw.

          "Bloody hell, Sherlock. Get the fuck away from me and get back to the sofa. And don't get off."

My anger is so strong I don't care what happens now. Tired of being his pet, his toy to do what he wants when he wants.

* * *

Once more I move to the bag as out of the corners of my eye I see him sit on the edge of the cushion.

With control in mind, I begin to tie his hands together with the ropes.

          "John, listen to me..."

My hand goes to cover his mouth.

          "Don't you dare say a word."

And I don't know what comes over me, but I slap him firmly across his face, enough to throw his head to one side and leave a bright pink mark on his cheek.

I'm instantly feeling dreadful, lean down and kiss his cheek while murmuring, "so so sorry Sherlock."

* * *

Carefully tilting him down to lie on his back on the cushions of the sofa, I kneel down, bring his head to face me, and those lips become mine again. He gives no resistance and joins my tongue with his.

His trousers are tight, tighter than usual around the crease. Now looking into his eyes, I slowly lower his zipper, all the while licking my lips.

Those hazel-green eyes begin to look darker, misty.

* * *

My zipper comes undone, and I hesitate. My hand ghosts his cheeks.

          "My Sherlock."

My arousal has taken over, and I pull my trousers and pants down and manage to get them off along with shoes and socks.

* * *

Standing there with my thickened penis out, and Sherlock looking at it, I take it in hand a give a few ups and downs.

Groaning I go back to my former position atop Sherlock. And pull his trousers and pants down to his knees.

          "Oh, God," as lie down on him and begin rubbing our cocks together. The sensation is stunning, breathtaking. And hearing him whimper in ecstasy, feeling his cock against my cock I come on his belly. 

He bucks up to me, and the sensation of his vibrating cock sends shivers down my body. His come squirts, and he lets out a yell, shivers, and lies still, eyes closed.

* * *

          "Let's get cleaned up and sit and discuss this." I say, shocked at this latest of events.

* * *

Both sitting in our chairs a few hours later after having calmed down, tea in hand, I finally start to talk.

          "Sherlock; you had this all planned for quite a while. Why and what was the purpose?"

Not looking up at me but at the floor, hands on his knees, he hesitates.

          "John, yes I had a plan in mind. But it all went wrong. I honestly surmised that at some point soon you would be, how is it put, jumping my bones."

          "Hmm, and how did you surmise that?"

          "Oh, you were so transparent when I took a shower and came out draped in only a towel. Looking at my trousers where you shouldn't have gazed. All the signs were there."

* * *

I'm not surprised that he saw how I looked at him.

          "But I knew me, knew I would fight you, get frightened. Yes, frightened. So when I bought those items, I thought you would automatically assume it was to bind me, to take possession of me. Never thinking the opposite. Sorry, so sorry."

          "Ah, and you assumed I would someday not be able to keep control of my urges and, as you put it, jump your bones?"

He nods as he looks so upset.

I rise from my chair, over to his, putting my hands on the arms, bringing my legs between his and with a stern, captains voice, "Sherlock Holmes, be prepared to have your bloody bones fucked."


End file.
